


My Collection of Ficlets

by HermaiaMoira



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fellatio, M/M, Revenge, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-30 19:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3948592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermaiaMoira/pseuds/HermaiaMoira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is where I will dump my ficlets and half-baked ideas and whatnot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He is Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mason's goons kidnap Will with the intention of causing him harm. Hannibal finds out. They've made a huge mistake.

Inspired by [this prompt](http://lehtang.tumblr.com/post/118269211554/all-i-need-is-someone-after-will-someone-clueless) on Tumblr.

 

Will Graham was only able to open one eye to take in his surroundings. The other was swollen shut. Through blurry vision, he observed the nearly empty room of the warehouse. A large table stood beside him. The smooth concrete floor was smattered with grease stains and the tall yellowed windows were covered here and there with cardboard. He tasted copper in his mouth when he inhaled deeply and lolled his head back. It hurt to breathe through his nose.

The men had hustled him into the building and took turns beating him. Hard kicks to his gut and legs with heavy leather boots. When he couldn’t stand up again, they lifted him to his feet and held him while they punched his face. Finally they plopped him into a bolted-down steel chair, cuffed his hands to the armrests, and tied his ankles to the legs.

“We understand that the FBI wants Dr. Lecter,” one of the men told him, “But Mr. Verger wants him more.”

Will leaned to one side and spat bloody saliva onto the floor.

“We can convince you to cooperate with us,” the man went on, pulling a chair forward and sitting on it backward with his arms resting on the back.

Another goon brought forward a briefcase and slammed it down on the table. When he opened it, Will spied a long row of bamboo sticks.

“We know you have found Hannibal Lecter,” the seated man told him. “Tell us where he is.”

“He’s on the move,” Will answered. “He could be anywhere.”

The man clicked his tongue and replied, “I think you know more than that.”

He signaled to the one with the briefcase and he quickly dropped down and pulled off Will’s shoes and socks. Then the goon pulled a stick from its row and pushed it up against one of Will’s toenails.

“You are in no position to catch him at this point,” he said. “Let us bring him to justice, in our own way.”

Will gritted his teeth and heaved, his stormy blue eyes glaring at his captor. The man nodded at his colleague and he began to shove the stick under Will’s toenail, flooding the underside with blood. Will screamed and threw his head back, thrashing against the chair. Across the room, another man held a phone with his camera pointed at the torturous scene.

When the men pulled Bedelia Du Maurier into the warehouse, her skin went hot and cold at the sound coming from the interior room. Anguished cries echoed through the lofty space, followed by moments of silence, and then they would return once more. She shuddered and swallowed, her placid face broken by traces of the fear she tried to conceal.

“You hear that?” the man who clutched her silk-clad arm hissed in her ear. “That’s the fed we found sniffing around for your husband. We don’t even know for sure that he has any idea where Lecter is. You are more promising. So you’d better talk to us.”

They brutishly ushered her into the room where the screams emerged.

“We found his wife. Lecter wasn’t around, but maybe he’ll come to us when he finds we have her.”

“I’ve sent the video to the work email of Dr. Fell, captioned ‘your wife is next,’” the man with the phone said, “That should get his attention.”

He aimed the camera at Bedelia and took a snapshot.

“I’ll add this as proof we have you.”

“I am not his wife,” Bedelia told them in a slow cadence. “That was a charade. You won’t find him, and he won’t come for me. This is a waste of your time.”

“Well then you will have to tell us where he went,” the thug with his hands on her said, pushing her toward the bolted chair and forcing her to look at what they’d done, “Or you will end up like him.”

Bedelia stared at the man restrained to the chair. His bare feet were tense and bloody, with sticks jutting from his toes. His hands twitched, horrifically contorted with their fingernails extended into long bamboo claws. A broken snivel emitted from the quivering victim, whose face was marked with bruises, lacerations, and pain-induced tears. His head was bowed, but at the sound of her gasp he lifted it and looked back with a meek gaze. When he saw her, his mouth parted and his tongue moved within as if trying to form words.

Recognition passed over her expression, and she blinked in astonishment.

“You…” Bedelia stammered, “You sent a video of what you did to him… to Hannibal?”

“Yes,” the man in the chair responded, “To show him what we will do to you if he doesn’t show up.”

Bedelia began to chuckle. The leader scowled and cocked his head in confusion. Then her chuckle grew to a high, lilting laugh that bounced off the walls as well as any scream.

“What is funny?”

“Do you…” she asked, her voice galvanized with spite, “Do you have any idea who you have there?”

“The FBI, we know, and we don’t care. There’s nothing they can do…”

“That… is Will… Graham,” she told him, a strange manic life exuding from her eyes.

“So?” he retorted.

“I was wrong,” She continued. “He is coming. He is coming, and you… you are all going to die… screaming.”

The hired thug positioned outside the door watched as the sun began to set. He repositioned his gun and leaned against the wall, preparing to light a cigarette.

When he heard a scratching sound to his right, he dropped the cigarette and walked toward it, to the corner of the building. Suddenly, he felt a weight slam into him from behind and a firm grip wrap around him. Before he could even react, his neck snapped.

Bedelia sat tied to a chair facing Will Graham. She watched him with curiosity as the light pouring in through the windows began to fade. A cry rang out from the other room, and an ephemeral smile passed over her lips.

“He’s here,” she whispered.

The leader stood up and then shots began to fire from beyond the door. Men called out and then were silenced in guttural noises and gurgles.

“Go!” he ordered the man with the phone. The man bolted out the door with his gun raised and as soon as he disappeared around the corner, the sounds of cracking, slashing, and then a thud returned. The leader pulled his gun and slowly walked in that direction.

When he emerged from the doorway, he looked down and saw his colleague in a heap on the floor, his belly flayed open and guts spilling out. As soon as he lifted his face once more, he felt a cold smack on the back of his head and his vision went dark.

He opened his eyes again and shook the dizziness away. He was back in the room, bound to the bolted chair. He glanced down at the floor to see the torturer twitching and moaning, his arms outstretched as he tried to drag himself. His legs were mangled and twisted. When he turned his head to the side, he could see three bamboo sticks jutting out of each of his eyes. Blood streamed like tears down his face.

The leader looked up to see Will Graham standing, supported by Bedelia, with his hands and feet wrapped in cloth.

“Don’t ask me to help you,” Will told him bitterly. “I’m not going to.”

“Help me?” he asked.

Then the intruder came into his view. He stood tall and lean with disheveled hair falling into piercing golden eyes. His menacing expression made him shiver.

“Good evening,” Hannibal Lecter said. “I hope you are well awake. I want you to be fully conscious for this.”

The man pulled at his restraints, jiggling the chair in desperation.

Hannibal continued, “Your clumsy attempts at torture were only somewhat effective. Don’t worry. I am about to give you a careful instruction in the art of inflicting pain, and how to make it last for a very… very long time.”


	2. I Forgive You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will tells Hannibal what he needs to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a prompt in the Hannigram Facebook group.

“I forgive you,” Will had said.

But forgiveness is not forgetting. It is not the erasure of past wrongs and an acceptance over the imbalance those wrongs create. If anything, it leaves a vacuum behind where hate once dwelled, and the need to fill that space becomes even more pressing. Will required balance. When he and Hannibal stood alone in the catacombs together, the past playing between them like a muffled record, the demands in his eyes were apparent.

Hannibal could sense it in those stormy blue pools as they spoke together. Will had a way of shaking his head, rotating his jaw as he lowered his chin with an intense half-lidded stare. It stirred something in the doctor whenever he saw it. From the moment he met Will Graham, Hannibal had felt an intense craving to please him. Hannibal Lecter, a man of utmost confidence and forceful dominance, found himself weak and needy in the presence of that knowing smirk and all-seeing gaze. Every twist of manipulation, every destructive act he had done toward Will was to gain his deep understanding and approval. When Will had smiled at him, exchanged facetious comments with him, and bore into him with haughty eyes, Hannibal felt nothing short of giddy. The internal plummet he felt when he realized it had been a charade left him in a vindictive rage.

That was all over now. Will had forgiven him, but still demanded from him with his magnetic glare. Hannibal felt it all coming back: his adoration, his sense of validation, and that ever-subdued longing to fall before the beautiful man and receive his favor.

“Forgive me,” Hannibal couldn’t help but ask again, though it had already been answered. It was an instinctive response to the growing, burning sensation in his gut and the buzzing light feeling in head. He embraced Will, who placed his hands on Hannibal’s back, not squeezing or holding him, just touching.

Hannibal pulled away and looked at Will. The young man’s jaw was tight, his fleshy lips curling at the edges in a tiny condescending grin. His quicksilver eyes darted through and through Hannibal until he lost strength in his knees and he dropped to the sandy floor.

“Forgive me.”

Hannibal pressed his nose and mouth against the front of Will’s trousers, his prominent lips grazing the zipper as he whispered the words. He felt the man grow stiff through the fabric and it quieted him, but made him all the more eager to acquiesce. He ran his hand against the outline of Will’s cock, moving his kiss along with it.

Suddenly, Will took hold of Lecter’s hair and pulled him back. He gazed down at him relentlessly, his jaw twitching and his nostrils flaring. He was the vision of wordless sovereignty. Hannibal sighed and calmed himself, craning his neck and delighting in his own position below the young man, and the tug of his fingers in his hair. Will lowered his other hand to his zipper and began to pull his erection free. Hannibal licked his lips but didn’t move. He remained in his quiet kneeling pose, adoring expression on his face, until Will pulled him back against him and pressed the head of his cock against his lips.

Hannibal took him into his mouth and sucked, his hands dropping to the ground in front of him. He kept his eyes turned upward, never looking away from Will’s face. He felt his body flush with sweet heat when he saw his eyes widen and his sneer soften into a smile. He whimpered gratefully through his nose and took more of the man, licking and sucking as he reveled in the approving moans.

“I forgive you,” Will whispered.

Hannibal blinked and looked over his shoulder. He had heard the young man calling to him through the catacombs, had heard the statement under his breath. It had sent him into a reverie. He cringed to himself at where his mind had gone, at how quickly his desires caused his thoughts to run away from him. The doctor paused for a moment, considering that perhaps he could in fact fall on his knees before Will and show him that side of himself. Instead, he turned his face forward and continued walking away.


	3. Baroque Macabre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt by partialparticulars on Tumblr--"Since I watched 'My Idiot Brother' recently: How about an AU where Will is a portrait artist that Hannibal commissions to paint his wife, Bedelia. (Then it’s like canon Hanni/Alana/Will but instead it’s Hanni/Will/Bedelia)."

“My husband enjoys archaic rituals of the elite, such as portrait-sitting,” Bedelia Lecter mused. “There is something about artifice that he finds deeply fascinating.”

Will Graham chuckled and dabbed his brush across the palette. The studio smelled of paint, turpentine, and drying canvas. Across the way, Bedelia perched on the edge of the stool in feline attentiveness. She shot a glance at Dr. Hannibal Lecter, who was leaning against the wall and studying the artist, barely acknowledging that he was being talked about.

Lecter eyed him as he worked, the handsome young man hidden beneath a spotty white undershirt and glasses that slid down his nose. Bedelia nodded. She could always tell when her husband found someone attractive. It was usually followed by incessant prodding by the adept psychiatrist, and then disinterest as soon as he realized their vapidity.

Finally tearing his gaze away from the lovely painter, Lecter scanned the studio through narrow eyes until he spotted a stash of canvases leaning against the wall and facing it. As Will focused on the portrait and his subject, Dr. Lecter wandered over to them and began to turn them around.

He stood back in silent admiration at what he saw. They were gruesome images in saturated colors and Baroque theatrical lighting. One showed a man cut in half, sitting in a pew beside himself, with his tongue placed in the Bible as a bookmark. The second was a woman impaled on the head of a stag. Ravens pecked at her flesh and her lungs were cut from her chest and displayed beside her. Lastly, a judge stood with a blindfold and his skull sawed open. In his hand he held a scale aloft, weighing his brain and his heart against each other.

“Oh,” Will stammered, noticing what Lecter was poking through. “Those are very personal. I didn’t intend to show them.”

Bedelia’s eyes darted to the side to view what had caught her husband’s attention. They gleamed for a moment and a twitch appeared at the corner of her mouth.

“Very macabre,” Dr. Lecter murmured. He pointed at the painting of the judge. “I especially like this one. Not only is justice blind, it's mindless and heartless.”

“They are… images from my nightmares,” Will explained. “As I said, they’re not intended for show.”

“Do you often have nightmares?” Lecter asked.

“Yes, I do. I consider those projects a therapy of sorts.”

“They cause you some distress?” Lecter continued to pry. He turned his body and attention back to the young man.

“Those images are intrusive,” Will answered. “I paint them to get them out of my mind so I don’t have to dwell on them.”

Lecter cocked his head and watched the man in his discomfort, then said, “I imagine these nightmares touch everything else in your mind. You find yourself shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.”

Will fidgeted in his seat for a moment, visibly irritated.

“Well, that’s why I don’t put them on public display. I don’t care to be psychoanalyzed.”

“They are beautiful,” Lecter told him, casting a loving gaze back at the paintings. “They should be shown to the world.”

“I prefer not to,” Will retorted, getting back to work on the portrait.

As Hannibal and Bedelia rode home, she could see the distracted cloudiness in his eyes.

“I sense an obsession looming on the horizon,” she said.

“I am intrigued,” he replied.

“Your intrigues have a tendency to veer into obsessiveness.”

“I hate to see real talent go to waste,” he said.

“You cannot force the issue.”

“No,” Hannibal told her with a smile, “But I think I can help good Will see the beauty of his nightmares.”

When Will finished his portrait of Bedelia, the couple invited him to bring it to their home and join them for dinner.

“Veal involtini with Castagne e' prosciutto and chestnuts,” Lecter announced as he placed the plate in front of Will.

“This looks delicious,” Will said, fanning out his napkin and placing it on his lap.

“It became a favorite of my wife and mine when we were touring in Italy,” the doctor replied, pouring his guest a glass of Valpolicella.

“I fear I have been rather rude in our last encounter,” Lecter said, taking his seat. “I should not have poked you.”

Will showed him a forgiving smile and said, “I imagine as a psychiatrist it is too tempting not to analyze.”

“I can’t shut it off any more than you can shut off your dreams.”

“Some psychiatrists are so hungry for insight that they may try to manufacture it,” Bedelia added as she took a bite. She gave Hannibal a faint wink.

“Ah, but I don’t think I’ve manufactured my insights on you, Will,” he replied.

After dinner, Will sat on the couch in the salon. He felt warm and full of good food and drink. Dr. Lecter sat down beside him and Bedelia took the armchair across from them.

“Thank you for your work on my wife’s portrait,” Hannibal said. “You have a gift for bringing out the essence of a person in their likeness.”

“I have to put a little of myself in every painting,” Will told them.

“Perception’s a tool that’s pointed at both ends,” Hannibal remarked. “What you see in others, you see in yourself, and vice versa.”

Will sighed and leaned back into the couch.

“I suppose that’s true.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, why is it that you won’t put your nightmare paintings on display? There is certainly no lack of macabre in contemporary or even classical art.”

“There’s something too intimate about my dreamscapes,” Will explained.

“You don’t wish to advertise the inner-workings of your mind,” Lecter added.

“There’s a darkness there that I guard closely.”

Dr. Lecter pondered for a moment, sucking his upper lip between his teeth before continuing, “When you dreamed of these violent tableau, who did you see creating them?”

Will took a breath and looked off into the middle distance.

"I stared at the bodies, and the space opposite them assumed the shape of a man filled with dark and swarming flies.” He sniffed and added, “Then I scattered them."

“How did scattering them make you feel?” Lecter asked.

“I felt… a quiet sense of power.”

“In your dreams you have the power to dispel the shadows that create evil,” Bedelia suggested.

“Perhaps,” Will answered, rubbing his face with his hands. “Or perhaps I am the shadow.”

Hannibal leaned toward the young man, laying a hand on one of his spread knees. His neck craned as his eyes traced the likeness beside him. Will’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t recoil.

“In the vaults of our hearts and brains, danger waits,” Lecter murmured, his lips moving in a hypnotic cadence.  “There are holes in the floor of the mind—stinking oubliettes. Nothing escapes from them quietly to ease us.”

Will was drawn in by the soft lull of the man’s voice, and his vivid way of speaking. He let his head fall to the side, large eyes focused on Hannibal’s mouth.

“You are intensely beautiful, Will,” Lecter whispered.

Will glanced over at Bedelia, who sat with her leg crossed over the other, hands draped over the arms of the chair. Her face was placid, mouth pursed but eyes smiling. A moment later, he felt Hannibal’s lips on his neck, and his hand sliding up his thigh. Will looked back at the man, unsure of what was happening. Hannibal smiled and kissed him, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth and darting his tongue between them.

Will remained still aside from a twitch when Hannibal’s hand reached his groin and began to massage him. He released a shaky breath and returned his kiss, letting himself be groped. When he felt his zipper being pulled down, he gasped and looked back at Bedelia. Her only response to her husband’s advances was a slight tilt of her head and a slow blink.

Hannibal unbuttoned Will’s trousers and pulled them down around his hips, then his underwear. Will whimpered and began to lean back onto the arm of the couch. Lecter pressed his body against him, caging him with his left arm as his right hand wrapped around Will’s cock. He kissed him again, pushing his tongue inside of his mouth as he fondled him.

“Dr. Lecter,” Will’s voice came out in a creak when he broke away from the kiss.

Hannibal uttered a growling sound and moved his mouth to Will’s collar. He nibbled him until Will’s head fell back and he closed his eyes. The doctor licked his fingers and began to work them between the young man’s legs, probing and massaging him as he stroked his cock.

With each movement, Will began to thrust his hips upward, face contorted in surprised pleasure. He moaned and spread his legs further apart, letting Hannibal push his finger inside of him. His vision went bright behind his eyelids and he humped Hannibal’s hand. Then he groaned and broke into spasms. His voice ended in a sweet, gasping bleat as he came, his ass tightening around Hannibal’s probing fingers.

He exhaled and tossed another look at Bedelia. She still sat with the haughty poise of a preening cat. She was looking back at him with glinting eyes, cocked head, and a dimple in her cheek.

Will felt instantly ashamed of himself and the ease at which Dr. Lecter turned him into a quivering, humping boy. He cleaned himself off and left their home.

He tried not to think of the strange couple, until two weeks later he was given a terrible reminder. Will was not one to watch the news, but the current story became ubiquitous enough that he caught it one day while flipping through channels.

His heart nearly stopped when he saw the images on screen. They were grotesqueries straight out of his most feared nightmares: a mutilated man with his tongue in a Bible, a woman impaled on a stag’s head, and a judge with his heart and brain on a scale.

For a moment, Will thought he wasn’t even awake. Then he felt a strange supernatural fear that something he had done had brought to life these atrocities. Finally, he realized that there could only be one person responsible.

The pounding on the door brought both Hannibal and Bedelia to the lobby.

“Will,” Lecter greeted him, “So nice to see you again.”

“Those people!” Will shouted, barging past him. “They were killed, just like in my paintings!”

Hannibal was calm, his hands in his waistcoat pocket.

“I couldn’t bear to see your stunning creations hidden,” he said with great affection. “I wanted the world to see you, to know you, even if they never learn your name.”

“You,” Will gasped, “You are the man of flies!”

“Have you come to scatter them?” Bedelia asked, walking toward him. She registered no surprise in her expression.

“You know,” Will breathed, staring at her in shock.

Bedelia smiled and replied, “I know enough of him to see the truth of him. And I like him.”

“Then you are an accomplice to murder!” he said.

“No,” she answered. “I am not participating, only observing.”

Will thought back to the night that Hannibal brought him to half-clothed orgasm on his couch, and the way Bedelia looked while sitting there. Not participating, only observing. He turned back to Hannibal.

“I can’t keep those paintings,” he muttered. “If anyone sees them, they will think I committed the crimes.”

“Do what you want with them, Will,” Hannibal responded. “They are already immortalized, haunting the dreams of all others.”

Will dashed out of the house. He ran across the lawn until he couldn’t breathe and bent down to clutch his knees. He looked over his shoulder at the Lecter home, shivering and trying to steady the throbbing in his chest. In his horror, he wondered where his nightmares ended and the monster they had fueled began.


	4. Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt by howishughdancyevenpossible on Tumblr: "Could you pls do a mizumono au where Will goes with Hannibal. I love to torture myself with what could of been."
> 
> Instead of gutting Will and slitting Abigail's throat, Hannibal chooses to forgive Will, who forgives him back. They return to Hannibal's home in Lithuania but Hannibal is still haunted by Will's trickery.

Hannibal stood in his old kitchen in Lithuania, where he had grown up, where he had smelled the family cook chopping herbs and simmering meat many times before. He found himself learning again his way around the cupboards and the shelves. When Will returned from his outing still wearing his jacket and carrying a paper bag, he smiled at him in a new feeling of domestic bliss.

“I brought home some things for supper,” Will told him, setting the bag on the counter and pulling vegetables from it. Lastly, he retrieved a parcel of meat wrapped in brown paper. He slid it across the counter with his trademark smirk.

“You’ve provided the meat,” Hannibal said. It came out in a half-whisper, somewhat choked.

“Yes,” Will replied with a cheeky glint in his eyes. “It’s from a cow this time.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and then they darted over the vegetables. He seemed lost in thought.

“Will,” he said finally. “I don’t think I can prepare this.”

“What?”

“I…” he considered his words carefully then continued, “I didn’t see you get it. I don’t know for a fact where it comes from.”

Will’s brow furrowed.

“You think I’m trying to poison you, now?”

“No,” Hannibal answered. “I just… as I told you once before, I am very careful about what I put into my body.”

“Yes, I’d say you are pathologically careful,” Will responded. He studied the man with a still face.

“Pathologically, you are right about that.”

“You let me provide the meat once before,” Will muttered. As soon as he said it, he regretted it.

“I want you to understand,” Hannibal explained, “The enormous amount of trust that took from me, to eat that meat. I don’t usually put that kind of trust in people.”

A wordless moment of silence passed between them before Hannibal said what didn’t need to be said, “You tricked me. It wasn’t what I thought it was.”

“You thought it was Freddie Lounds,” Will said. “It wasn’t, it was Randall Tier. Was it really so horrible that it was just another human being?”

“It’s not the meat itself, or what it was,” Hannibal told him. “It was the deception.”

There was a crack in Hannibal’s voice that caused Will’s face to soften. Something lurked there, behind his heavy-lidded eyes.

“Once, long ago, when I was a very young child… someone fed me meat under false pretenses. They tricked me, and I ate it without knowing…”

He trailed off, and Will’s mouth parted slowly when he saw Hannibal’s eyes begin to form tears.

“What was it?” he asked.

“That’s not something I wish to talk about at this time,” Hannibal sighed, blinking away the wetness, “Perhaps another day.”

Will thought about how he had slipped Hannibal that meat with full knowledge of who it was and Hannibal’s obliviousness, how he had tasted it and knew the person he was eating tasted of fear. That taste was not unfamiliar to him.

“We can,” Will murmured, picking up the paper package. “We can make something else.”

He dropped the wrapped meat into the garbage and looked back at Hannibal with a supportive smile. He put a hand on his strong shoulder, which twitched a bit and then relaxed to his touch.

“Thank you, Will,” Hannibal replied.

“I hope,” Will said, running his hand down Hannibal’s back, “That over time I can earn your trust once more.”

“It may take time,” Hannibal whispered, then added in a clear voice, “Call Abigail in to help us make dinner.”

Will looked at the man who he had come to know and realized that there were facets of him that he had never touched and perhaps never would; layers of vulnerability beneath his monstrosity and the well-tailored human suit that cloaked it. He nodded and went to find their daughter in the old house, where the enigma that was Hannibal Lecter had spent his childhood.


End file.
